HIS FAVORITE SIN!

deliciously breakable

Rowan

"Oh, baby, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," I spat, eyes narrowed, voice low.

"I dare you. Do it."

She smirked, her voice laced with something dark and teasing. "Do you think I fear a little f*ck?" She paused, then let out a laugh — slow, purring, intoxicating.

"f**k me, but my stance won’t change. I don’t need a man. Never did. Never will. That’s what fingers and toys are for, isn’t it?"

Her words echoed through me. Every syllable scraped against my pride. And yet, a smirk curled my lips.

Her eyes… wild, unrestrained, defiant. The kind I loathe. The kind I crave. The kind I break.

Step by step, I moved in — slow and calculated, a predator eyeing his prey. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that all women speak the same language once they’re under me — desperate, breathless, begging. The good girls. The bad ones, it never matters. They all fall. They all kneel.

And she will too.

I closed the distance in a breath. She sat on her bed, pink sheets beneath her, blonde hair tumbling like a halo around her smug face.

Beautiful. Dangerous. Deliciously Breakable.

And as I lowered myself to her level, my mind already playing out the rhythm of her eventual surrender, the world tilted—

And I woke up.

With a fuckin boner.

Fuck.

I fell asleep reading Midnight Siren again. That latest chapter pissed me off. Maybe I should send in a complaint. Or better, burn the f*****g book, but that meant breaking my iPhone 16 since I was reading online. We live in a digital world after all.

Scoffing, I glanced at the clock: two hours until school.

Great. I overslept. No gym.

Just the lingering effects of a dream too vivid and a fantasy too damn irritating.

Cold shower? Useless. My little problem remained. Just what I needed today.

A hard-on and a long-ass day ahead of me. f*****g peachy.

Downstairs, the circus awaited — a pristine breakfast table and a family that belonged on display behind museum glass.

"Good morning," I muttered, pulling out a chair.

They hadn’t started eating. They were waiting for me. As always.

"You look indecent," my grandfather said dryly, digging into his food like he hadn’t just pointed out my morning wood.

"It’s a physiological response. Do I need to break down male anatomy for you to explain this 'predicament'?" I replied, voice just as sharp as his.

I grabbed the protein shake waiting beside me, trying to avoid explaining why I’d woken up hard — or what inspired the dream. Because if this old bastard found out about that book? The author would be six feet under before I even finished planning how to ruin that cocky little main character.

"Rowan."

My father's voice barely made it across the table. Soft. Spineless. Embarrassing.

"Sorry," I said, though I didn’t mean it. Ever. But if I had to choose between the two men, I’d always protect my father — only because I hated my grandfather more.

"It’s okay… right, Father?"

My father gave a weak smile. I stiffened.

God. Shut up.

Every word out of his mouth was like blood in the water for a shark. My grandfather ignored him, of course.

The silence was fragile — the kind I liked — and I was just about to leave when—

"So… when was the last time you spoke to your mother?"

I stopped drinking. My grip tightened around the glass.

"I don’t want to talk about it." Dismissive. Final. Or so I thought.

"Rowan, she’s your—"

"DON’T YOU DARE MENTION THAT f*****g w***e IN FRONT OF ME AGAIN.”

My voice exploded across the pristine white dining room, bouncing off hollow marble and glass. This house had always felt like a tomb — perfect, cold, and lifeless. No warmth. No softness. No woman’s touch.

I looked at my father. His eyes were full of that same pathetic hurt he wore the day she left — the day she ran off with her lover, the one she’d cheated with.

And my grandfather…

He smirked. Just for a second.

He’d won.

I’d given him leverage.

"Excuse me. I have early classes," I muttered, standing and walking off before they could say more.

The butler bowed as he opened the front door, just in time for me to hear my father’s voice again — trying to patch things up, as usual.

"Rowan is a good boy. Perfect grades. Good manners. I’m doing my best to groom him to be your next heir... Please excuse his little outburst, Father… he’s still just… hurt about his mother."

I scoffed. Meek. Always meek.

Let him believe what he wants — that I’m broken, grieving, emotional. That I give a damn.

But moping over a woman? That’s laughable.

I don’t chase. I destroy.

They always fold. Always beg.

And after one taste of what I give them, they never recover.